Wanted: Something New
by R4v3n Kn1ght
Summary: James Tiberius Kirk needed a new job. After ten months working in a personally and professionally unfulfilling position as a women's perfume sales associate, he simply needed something new. Then, he found that new job when he stopped for a coffee. (Thus begins the tales of the familiar faces of the Enterprise crew living the life of the minimum wage employee. Mainly humor.)
1. Job Hunting

_**Author's Note:**__ This is simply for entertainment, and has nothing to do with canon whatsoever, except for character names, and blatant, unapologetic misuse of Starfleet equipment and ship names. But there are alien species…which I make no effort to explain their presence in this story. _

_ Just take this as a multichapter story of a series of anecdotes, making our fearless crew struggling to deal with the frustrations, joys, hilarity, and strife of working the dead-end minimum wage type of job. I hope that if anything, this is entertaining for some readers. _

_And for the record, just about 90% of the anecdotal incidents are based on real events in my own experience of this type of employment. Having recently found my notes for this little story, I decided to get it out there for preservation's sake. (Also, I am in need of writing something a little lighthearted.) Enjoy, everyone. ~ RK_

**Wanted: Something New**

**Chapter 1 – Job Hunting**

James Tiberius Kirk needed a new job. After ten months working in a personally and professionally unfulfilling position as a women's perfume sales associate, he simply needed something new. He really could only take the normal clientele for so long before he needed to move on. Not that his customers that he'd encountered were not entertaining, sometimes, because they were certainly entertaining. But after a while he was able to recognize their stereotype on sight.

There were the girls that used the wrong perfumes no matter how hard he tried to politely convince them of their purchasing mistake by suggestion a much better choice, but they still purchased the awful-for-them perfume because they were right and he was just the stupid sales person. There were the women who wore the worst scent possible for their body chemistries because they didn't understand how perfumes actually worked nor did they have any interest in his explanation of this scientific phenomenon if their wandering "I-just-want-to-leave-now" eyes and twitching hands shoving their credit chips in his face were any indication. The girls that never once bought anything but insisted on leaning suggestively all over his counter – which he compulsively cleaned immediately after they finally left – who were under the delusion that they were worth more attention than the woman a few feet away trying to decide between two perfumes, and trying to be discreet looking at the credit chips she brought along, mentally trying to budget herself to pick the perfume she'd be easier able to afford. Sorry, honey, but he James T. Kirk always went where the money was flashing. More often than not, he'd convince the indecisive girl to go with a third option she hadn't even been considering, which outpriced both of her final two choices. She'd even thank him for convincing her to spend more money than she should have. There were ones that were clueless, and ones that were desperate to get laid, pinning all their hopes of a good date and a better night on his recommendations of what perfume would guarantee an explosive evening.

He was good at persuasion and they all liked his blue eyes and charming smile…

…except the men, mostly. Some came to his counter to talk about the game last night or the game that was going to happen that night, or about the new bar down the road. But most of them came to beg for his help in picking out the perfect perfume for their wives, girlfriends, or just plain lovers – whether illicit or otherwise. Hell, Kirk probably knew those women better than the men that bought them perfume.

But his favorite type of customer was definitely the precise ones. The women who knew precisely how perfumes work, knew precisely which scent notes complimented their bodies the best, were able to pinpoint their purchase in precisely one minute, and – when they handed it to him – their credit chip contained precisely the price of the item they bought. It was efficient and damn impressive in every way that would ever intrigue James T. Kirk. Only one woman had ever done it multiple times, from the first time she came to his counter to the last time he saw her. And he only had the last name on her empty credit chips to identify her by.

But! The fact remained that it grew monotonous at that perfume counter, and that Kirk needed a new job. He'd been gathering applications the entire day, the old-style paper applications! Some places apparently still relied on the antiquated methods. He suspected it had something to do with the quality of the applicant's handwriting. Good thing his writing was an excellent example of penmanship. He needed something, though, to give him a tiny bit of boost of energy after using most of it job hunting. And he knew just what he needed.

A coffee.

He passed off the burger places, the health cafés, and that new chic coffee place that boasted "Superior Blends mean Superior Business." The motto made him snort. It reeked of arrogance. No. If he wanted a coffee, there was only one place for him to go. His favorite place.

He drove his bike around the front of the building to the little mounted, motion-sensing comm. unit outside. Kirk couldn't help it; he loved antiques and sometimes he just loved what was once called 'drive-thrus.' He waited for only one second before a male voice sounded from the comm.

"Welcome to Starfleet Coffee. How may I assist you?"

He looked right at the outside camera and smiled. "Yes. A mocha Enterprise, two sugars, and extra cream."

"Are you in need of additional items to complete your order?"

He looked at the comm. as though it had offended him. "What?"

A new voice took over then. It was a woman, who did not seem happy nor amused. "Anything else?"

"Oh, um…no. Thanks?"

The male came back. "Very well. Please proceed to the window."

That was certainly new. Kirk drove his bike to the pick-up window, his credit chip ready for the necessary transaction. Then, the window opened and a woman in red stood there.

It was her. The precise perfume shopper! He knew he probably looked ridiculous as his mouth hung open in complete surprise. Her expression, however, was decidedly displeased. "You!"

"Hi!" he said, brightly. He strained to get a glimpse of her nametag. It had to have her first name! It had to. But she had already spun sharply and left the window, leaving it wide open. Was he bleeding? Was there something in his teeth? He had to make sure in his mirror.

When he looked back into the window, Precision-Perfume-Girl's place had been taken by a different girl also in red, but where her predecessor was all dark beauty, this one looked like temptation in the flesh. Her skin was Emerald City green, and with her red uniform, Kirk knew he would always feel like it was Christmas around her. Not to mention that curly hair! Too bad it was up like it was. It had to be sinful when it was down. "Hi, handsome. Don't know why she ran from you, though. She usually only runs from the creepy perverts."

"Maybe she pegged me for one."

"Are you?"

"What?"

She tilted her head. He knew the expression. 'Are you stupid?' "Absolutely not, and not a pervert either. Promise."

She smiled her bright white teeth at him. "In that case…" She held out her hand for his credit chip which he gladly surrendered. She returned it a moment later, and passed him his coffee with her other hand. "There's your Enterprise. And—" She presented the old-style slip of paper to him with a flourish. "Her name's on the sheet at the top of your receipt, so if you fill out the survey you can tell her that she's hot." He looked at her in surprise. Maybe she was the pervert and not him at all. "Trust me, it pisses her off, but it's funny for everyone else."

He smiled. He liked her. "And your name?"

She pointed to her nametag. "Gaila."

"I'll mention you, too, Gaila."

"You better." Then, the window closed in his face. It was only then that he finally noticed the sign stuck against the glass.

'Now Hiring, All Shifts. Apply Within.'

It hadn't been one of his choices. Hell, he only wanted a coffee to give him some energy to actually do the applications he'd gathered. But…He looked at the receipt. He'd be able to drive Nyota insane if he worked with her.

And be paid for it!

Decision made, Kirk parked his bike in the front of the building and strolled inside. He spoke to a pretty blonde name Janice, who gave him his requested application. Only after three or four minutes of filling out the first application of the pile a shadow stood over him. He glanced up and then around at the other tables. There were five other tables free. "Can I help you?"

Then, he really looked up. This man wore a yellow uniform shirt, with a nametag reading 'Christopher, manager.' Oh. Okay, then.

"You looking for a job?"

Kirk nodded to his pile. "Obviously."

The older man extended his hand. "Chris Pike, store manager."

Kirk took it. "Jim Kirk."

"Kirk? You related to George Kirk?"

He didn't exactly want to admit it. "Yeah. I'm his son." Seriously, how did he manage to walk into and apply to the one store in the entire region where the manager knew his father.

"How about that?" mused Pike. "Me and George graduated high school together." As far as Kirk was concerned, so did a few hundred other people. "I need a shift commander. If you want, I can start training you for the position immediately. You'll be a regular crew member until you're trained, but once you get to commander, you'll have a pay increase and longer guaranteed hours. You interested?"

Kirk narrowed his eyes at this man. "You don't even know me, sir."

Pike smiled kindly at him. "I know you're George's boy. That's all I really need to know."

He hated that – being compared to his father. But more than that, he hated nepotism. He'd rather his own talents and abilities get him places, not who made up half of his genetics. But it seemed even after leaving home far, far behind your family's ghosts still followed you. And he did want a new job. "Yeah, I'm interested."

"Good. You busy tomorrow?"

"Not…really." He actually sort of was, but he'd be able to cancel it.

"Be here tomorrow at 8:00 am. On time. Make sure you have black pants on. I'll give you the shirt and nametag then." Without waiting for a response, Pike turned and went back behind the counter, immediately barking at some poor thing in a red uniform to clean the counter.

Kirk sipped his coffee and gathered his papers. On his way out of the building, he slipped them all into the trash. He needed to get some rest for his new job tomorrow.

He smiled to himself as he started up his bike. Mission accomplished.


	2. Welcome to Starfleet

**Author's Note:** _Thank you to everyone who gave the first chapter a try. I present, now, Jim's first day. Happy reading! ~ RK _

**Chapter 2 – Welcome to Starfleet**

The next time Kirk walked through the door of Starfleet Coffee it was as a new employee. He arrived ten minutes early, and had on his required black pants. Just to be safe, he had a plain black t-shirt on, too. Black went with everything, right? But knowing his luck, he was willing to wager that he should have worn white. He glanced at the same cute blonde at the counter from yesterday, and noted immediately that she was also wearing a black shirt underneath her red uniform. Kirk smiled to himself. Apparently he took in more of his surroundings than he was fully aware. His subconscious had not steered him wrong.

"Hello!" the blonde screeched from her register to him. He hadn't even made it five feet into the store yet. She couldn't possibly like her job that much…could she? "What can I get you?"

He plastered on his most charming smile he could while being faced with the fakest one he'd seen in a while. "Um, I'm here to see Pike."

She nodded like a bobble-head doll. "Oh, hang on. I'll go get him."

She went to the right just as someone came through the door that was to the left of her register. It swung forward as a largely-built man strode through. He was also in a red shirt and black pants, but unlike Janice he was wearing a black apron. Kirk knew immediately that he was probably not someone that worked directly with the customers, especially if the scowl aimed his way was a special kind of customer welcome he was unfamiliar with. The big man looked him over from head to toe before he said one thing. "Oh, another new guy."

Wait, did he just say another? How many people did this place go through?

"Kirk!" someone shouted far to his left. He looked over in that direction and saw only half of the voice's face from over the little wall. But even from the eyes up, he could easily recognize Pike. But as soon as he realized who it was, Pike disappeared behind the wall.

As Kirk stood there a little confused by both the big guy's greeting, and Pike's bizarre behavior, the cute little blonde came back. "He'll be right here." She reminded him of a stewardess, always smiling as wide as possible until her face hurt.

"You know if you keep smiling like that, your face will—"

But then a customer came in, and her attention was obviously no longer on him. "Hi. How are you today?"

The man that came in looked surprised to be greeted even before the door closed. "I'm well."

Impossibly, her smile seemed to get bigger. "What can I get you?"

Kirk wanted to listen and watch Janice do her job, but he was prevented from doing just that as Pike came barreling past Janice holding a small packet of papers. "Come with me." He flung open the gate that separated the lobby from the work areas. Kirk took the hint and crossed the threshold into the land of Starfleet employee-dom. A slip of paper was thrust in his direction. "These are your employee numbers. You need them to clock in or you don't get paid." Kirk had no sooner taken the paper that Pike turned and began to walk away…fast. Kirk had to jog to keep up with Pike as he walked back the way he came. "Spock!" shouted Pike. "Where are you?"

A tall, slender, dark-haired, pointy-eared male in a blue shirt appeared around the corner so closely he made it look like a garbage can was not also along the very wall he came around. "Here, sir."

Pike tried very hard not to show that he'd just jumped. And almost succeeded. "Make Mr. Kirk a coffee – whatever he wants."

Spock's dark eyes flicked briefly in Kirk's direction before he was ignored like a dead animal on the side of the road. "Had Mr. Kirk been issued his employee cup?"

Pike stared at Spock. "I'm getting him his cup later."

Spock did not move. "The employee handbook states that no employee is to use cups for their own beverage consumption without paying for the cup itself. If he has not been issued his employee cup, Mr. Kirk will have to pay for the drink."

"Are you for real?" Kirk asked.

But neither Pike nor Spock heard him. And if they had, they were too busy in their own discussion to care what Kirk said. "You telling me how to do my own job, Spock?"

"I am quoting from our handbook to make sure that you do not begin to 'play favorites' as it were. If you allow one person to use cups intended for customers, then every other employee will be technically stealing cups from your store at will or compulsion."

Kirk's expression was now matching Pike's – blank staring. This guy couldn't be serious. Pike snapped. "Just make Kirk his damn drink!" He took one step closer to the blue-shirt-wearing male. "_With a non-employee cup._"

They stared at each other for a long moment before Spock calmly walked around his manager and finally acknowledged Kirk's existence again. "How would you like your coffee constructed?"

Kirk tried very hard not to laugh, and somehow managed to stop at a huge smile. "Um, an Enterprise, with mocha, two sugars and extra cream."

He swore Spock sighed as he went to the cup dispenser, selecting the third one down. He clicked the retractable permanent marker and wrote on the cup what was going into it. Kirk realized that Spock could not possibly be this slow to make drinks here – he was silently teaching him. "You are aware that the mocha is pre-sweetened?"

"I know," Kirk said, coming a little closer to Spock. "I like it sweeter."

"Too much sweetener is not ideal for your health."

Kirk shook his head and let it go. "Don't you drink coffee?"

"I do not," Spock informed him, as he pushed down four times on the pump of the mocha flavoring. Kirk watched, but was certainly unwilling to admit that maybe Spock had a point… Kirk's smile got bigger. He actually had _two_ points. Kirk let his eyes drift to those delicate ears. But aside from his physical points, Spock may have a vocal point about the sweetened mocha. He didn't know there was so much in there. Maybe he could cut back on the sugar slowly. He didn't realize Spock had kept talking. "—on occasion, but typically I consume juice or water."

How boring. Why even bother working in a coffee shop if you weren't going to take advantage of the free coffee as an employee?

Kirk watched as Spock continued to step to his left as he worked his way across the counter from cup to flavor to sugar to cream to coffee and finally to lid. The other male was deliberate in every single action. "And for your information, Mr. Kirk, you will be expected to train our customers to order according to our system. Your coffee should have been requested as 'an Enterprise, mocha, extra cream and two sugars.'" As he said his coffee back to him, Kirk felt like he'd just been yelled at by the principal.

He took his coffee from Spock and was about to say something incredibly witty, but was interrupted by a, "Kirk, get your ass over here and clock in!" from Pike. Kirk spun around and walked over to where Pike waited, the small pile of papers now on a clipboard. Kirk wasn't even really taking in his surroundings all that much, just going where Pike was telling him.

"—please come around." He looked up and saw her again.

Pike bodily forced her to take a step back. "Move, Uhura!" He waved Kirk over. "As dumb as it sounds, all the times are different on the registers, but this is the one that goes with the timeclock. So, if you want your punch ins to be right, you better use this one. This is the order taker's register."

As he approached, he couldn't help but smile at her again. "Hi, Nyota."

Her eyes snapped to meet his with no attempt whatsoever to hide her contempt. "Oh my God. No!"

"Shut up, Uhura," growled Pike. "Mr. Kirk is our new employee. Now get over here, Kirk, and put those numbers in here I gave you."

Her mouth was tightly pursed together and her head slowly shook side to side. Kirk had no idea why she hated him so much. She barely ever spoke to him when she bought perfume from him. He never flirted with her, either, so he just didn't get what her problem was. Maybe she just hated men. Yeah, he'd go with that for now.

Kirk looked at his paper for a second before crushing it in his fist so his index finger could be free to put in his six-digit employee code, '223304.' He wasn't stupid, so he took the initiative and hit the 'clock in' button right afterward.

"Okay, good, now follow me," Pike said, already heading away from the register.

Kirk was about to follow, but was stopped when someone held up a tiny slip of paper in his face. "You're gonna want this," someone said, kind of behind him and to the right. He grabbed the clock-in slip with a quick, "Thanks," and headed after Pike, who was making his way back toward Janice at the front counter.

"This is the front counter, where most of the shift commanders and peppy servers go each shift. This'll be your area when you get trained, so you better get used to kissing customer's asses," Pike said the last as close to Kirk's face as was possible. Then, suddenly, the clipboard was thrust in his direction. "Fill this out as we walk."

Kirk took it, and tried to figure out how the hell he was supposed to fill out paperwork, hold his coffee and a pen at the same time. Wait, he didn't even _have_ a pen! His face must have been flustered because the coffee was plucked from his right hand with a soft, "Mr. Kirk," and a pen replaced it. He glanced at Spock. "I will keep your beverage until you conclude the tour."

He smiled at Spock, then continued after Pike, who was staring at him as though he had delayed for longer than the three seconds the exchange took. "This is the product case, but you only have to worry about it when our baker isn't here." Pike pushed through the swinging door Kirk had seen the big, apron-wearing guy come through earlier. "Otherwise he stocks and rotates it. Don't ask him if he made anymore of something, or tell him something's out. At least as long as you're in red." Pike raised his voice. "Right, Hendorff?"

"If it's not out there, I don't have it!" came the shouted reply.

Pike looked at Kirk meaningfully. "He's territorial so leave the case alone."

"Got it," Kirk said with a sharp nod.

Pike pointed to Kirk's right. "Walk-in fridge and freezer's over there, and a lot of the extra cups, lids, stuff like that is kept over there along those walls. You'll explore later." He took one step, then changed his mind, stopping. He pointed to a big door, next to which – in the little hallway – was a security keypad on one side and a rack of hangers and a tall locker divided into smaller compartments. "Employee entrance. Don't come through the front, ever. Lockers for your stuff, and hangers. But good luck getting a locker because all the girls shove their purses and shit in there. Only way you'll get one is if you open the place. But I'm training you for nights, so you'll probably be sticking to a hanger."

Then, Pike took off again, heading to Kirk's left, pointing things out as he went. "Break table." It had at least ten identical silver travel mugs on it. These must be the employee cups that Spock was so obsessed about. "Employees do not eat their food in the lobby. It's only for customers. You can go outside but if I catch you in the lobby on break you'll get a write-up, understand?"

Pike didn't even wait for the response. Kirk wasn't planning on giving one anyway. He was distracted by the platter on the break table that was covered in cellophane. On the platter were the most obnoxious pink cupcakes Kirk had ever seen. He loved sweets. He headed right to it, and started peeling off the cellophane. "Aww, Cupcake," he cooed loudly to Hendorff at his workspace. "You made me Welcome-to-the-Crew Cupcakes? You shouldn't have."

"I didn't," the big man mumbled.

"They're for Rand," a new voice said from behind Kirk, making him almost drop his stolen treat. He spun to face the new person. By the broom in one hand and the dust pan in the other Kirk knew immediately that this must be the maintenance man…who was wearing a disturbingly creepy smile. "It's her eighteenth birthday." The smile and eyes grew bigger and definitely way more creepier as the man looked at the pink frosting on the cupcake in Kirk's hand. He was getting uncomfortable around this seventy-year old man.

Kirk looked to Hendorff for help. "Who's Rand?"

Suddenly, Uhura appeared at his right, reaching past him for her silver cup. "The girl in front you tried flirting with."

"Honey, I wasn't even trying," Kirk said with a wink. Uhura grimaced as she sipped her drink through her straw. "You jealous?"

"Hardly!" She replaced her cup on the table.

"If I were really trying I'd—"

She held up her hand in his face as she touched her headset with her free hand. "Good morning, and welcome to Starfleet Coffee. How can I help you?" With a sharp turn, and a ponytail that nearly hit him in the face like a million tiny whips, Uhura strutted back to her register.

"Kirk, stop shitting around and get over here. I have things to do, too."

Kirk ran over to Pike who was standing by the biggest sink he'd ever seen. "This is the three-compartment sink." He pointed left to right. "Wash, rinse, and sanitize. Don't cross contaminate, or get dairy in the wash water. Some nutcases will freak out." He pointed to gallon-sized detergent bottles hooked up to clear tubes, that ran into a dispenser, and into respective sinks. "Hit those buttons, twist them to lock. Just make sure you check the temperature before you walk away. Hendorff uses hell-hot water to wash his muffin pans and never turns the cold water back on. Poor Chapel burned her hands the other day."

Pike turned and nodded to a small sink that seemed to be tucked away alongside a giant machine. "Did you touch anything in the store other than the damn cupcakes since you came in?"

"No."

"Okay, good. I forgot to mention that the first thing you do after you come through that door, even before you clock in, is wash your hands." Pike held out his hands.

Kirk got the hint. He gave him back the clipboard and the cupcake and obediently washed his hands, taking in the instruction sign on how to properly wash his hands on the wall above the sink. It said wash for twenty seconds. He thought Pike seemed crazy enough to count how long he was washing his hands, so he counted to twenty-five to be on the safe side. He dried his hands with the paper towels and jerked his head to the big machine next to the sink. "What's that?"

"Ice machine."

"Oh."

Pike gave him his stuff back, which Kirk thought completely negated his hand washing. Shouldn't he have sanitized the clipboard or something? But Pike was already moving and pointing as he went. "Sandwich station!" Kirk and the frazzled worker assembling food exchanged nods in passing. "And we're back to the order taker, Warp Drive-Thru window, and the WDT area." He walked right up to a wooden door with papers taped all over it. "This is my office. You're not allowed in it. You can come as far as the doorway, but not past that, or I get a call from the owner. It's an easy rule." Kirk nodded. "Now stay there for a second."

While Pike disappeared into the office, Kirk found himself as the eye of the storm that was the warp drive-thru area. Two people were going back and forth assembling drinks faster than really good bartenders. Maybe they should think about bartending. They'd make incredible tips, he bet. He watched as lids were snapped on and put in order one after the other on the counter by the person in the window. He wasn't sure if he would ever get that fast.

Pike's door swung open, nearly taking out one of the drink-makers, and he came out holding a laptop with the power cables and a set of headphones.. "Alright, let's get you back in the lobby and start your training."

This surprised Kirk. "I thought I'd be training out here, with—"

"What? And mess up people's orders? Are you insane, Kirk?" Pike laughed to himself. He headed through the front counter area. "Rand! Open the gate!" Janice practically leaped to do it. She barely had enough time to just get it unlatched before Pike was busting through it, heading toward a table in the corner.

"Mr. Kirk," distracted him as he passed Spock again. He held out his coffee to him.

Kirk smiled and shook his head. "Thanks."

"Welcome to Starfleet," Spock said quietly before turning away to look up at a screen and begin to write on a cup.

Kirk went over to where Pike had set up the laptop. "Alright, Kirk. Before you leave, I need those papers all back. And we'll get you your shirts, nametag, and your goddamned cup." Kirk sat down in front of the laptop. "Just work your way left to right through these simulations as much as you can by noon. You'll pick up where you left off tomorrow. I want you on the floor as soon as possible." Then, Pike left him alone at the table.

Kirk looked at the screen to see an animated, cartoon-style college campus, with the words 'Starfleet Academy' in bright letters at the top of the screen. "You've got to be kidding me," he whispered to himself as he finally sipped his coffee. He put the headphones on and began his training as a new employee for Starfleet Coffee.


	3. Starfleet Academy

**Chapter 3 – Starfleet Academy**

While sitting in the lobby of his new place of employment, Kirk breezed through the first building of the virtual training simulations on the Starfleet Academy program on the laptop. His little genderless avatar walked along the sidewalk to the next little building on the cartoon campus. This one had a flag waving from the top of it reading 'Iced Coffee.'

He looked at the mounted clock on the wall. It had to be wrong. There was no way it had taken him an entire hour to work his way through the incredibly primitive simulations that only covered 'Hot Coffee!' He sipped his drink to gear up for wasting another hour on this thing. This was ridiculous.

He clicked on the door of the iced coffee building, and the simulation started.

"Welcome to the Iced Coffee station. In this section, you will learn how to brew, properly mark, and prepare iced coffee for your guests." He shook his head, unable to stop his eyes from closing in silent frustration. It did not stop him from tuning out the grating automated female voice of the computer, however.

"To begin, place the iced coffee liner into the iced coffee container. Be sure to lock the bag in place." Kirk stared. Were people really this stupid that they would try to make this stuff _without _the liner? Well, he figured, like how things had to have 'caution: contents may be hot' on them all the time now, it must mean that at some point in time there was one dumbass that caused the notice to be put on it. So…there must have been one prime example of intelligence out there that _did_ try to do this without the liner in the container.

"Pour 128 ounces of ice into the container and liner." He watched the magically floating bucket of ice dump itself into the thing. Followed by, "Next, pour 64 ounces of cold water. Be sure to use the designated metal pitcher when preparing iced coffee for brewing." Kirk gulped his coffee. Or you could simply do some math and figure out how to do this in the event that the stupid designated pitcher went missing! He knew there had to be other pitchers in the place! Did Starfleet Coffee shut down if the designated metal pitcher went missing? He doubted it.

"Place a large brewing filter into the iced coffee brew basket. Open two bags of specially ground Starfleet Coffee Iced Coffee Grounds, and pour the contents of each bag into the large brew filter in the large brew basket." He loved how these training videos thought he was stupid, like he never had brewed coffee before in his life! This was almost insulting. The bad cartoon acted out the scenario. He knew that in several minutes, after the short how-to movie was over, he would have to mindlessly repeat this entire process by clicking on things. Just clicking. Once he clicked, the movie took over anyway!

This was pointless.

"Turn brew machine on." Kirk glared at the laptop screen in disbelief. "Turn switch to full batch, then hit start. The iced coffee will begin brewing."

Kirk's attention got sidetracked for just a moment when the gate near Janice's register swung open. The leering janitor walked into the lobby. Is this how Uhura felt when she saw him? This sick feeling of dread? At least he was nice to look at. Kirk knew he was attractive, so he really couldn't understand why Uhura hated him so much. His point to himself was that he could understand why the septuagenarian cleaner in this building made him uncomfortable. He was just creepy the way he looked at people, especially when the older man looked at him. Kirk sipped his coffee to hide his grimace, but he kept his eyes on the guy.

The janitor went over to the cabinets that had the straws, sugar packets, and napkins on top of it and opened one of the lower doors, removing three wet floor signs. He shuffled around the lobby, placing them all in strategic places, usually where people couldn't miss them if they'd tried. That meant he stood them up about two feet from the two sets of front doors! People would barely have time to step on the carpets before they had to make a drastic directional change to avoid plowing into the signs. Kirk watched as he placed the last one directly in front of the counter before heading back through the gate.

"Listen to your guest as he orders an iced coffee, then – being sure to mark the cup – prepare the requested iced coffee." Shit. He must have been distracted for a while. He was so distracted by Creepy Janitor that he'd missed the how-to-mark-iced-coffee-cups lecture, and the demonstrational videos on how to build drinks. How hard could this be? Kirk was not going to sit through it again, even if he had missed it the first time.

He could have completed the first order if he had been hungover. "Iced Defiant Black." Seriously? How stupid were some people that this place hired? This was as easy as it could have possibly been. Ice in cup – check. Coffee in cup after ice – check. Put the stupid lid on! If someone could mess that up, they shouldn't even be allowed to leave their house, nevermind work…anywhere!

The Creep was back. He had a mop this time. Kirk hunkered down trying as much as possible to hide behind his screen. If he didn't look at the guy, maybe he wouldn't be so uneasy. But, just to be safe, he moved his cupcake right in front of the laptop and kept his hand on his cup. Creep was not getting his hands on them. The way he had eyed up his cupcake earlier, Kirk wouldn't put it past him to make a grab for it on his way past as he mopped.

Kirk made it through the Iced Coffee building pretty quick. After that was the connected, but smaller, building dedicated to Hot and Iced Teas. Even though he didn't even drink tea, he still knew how to make a damn tea! As his avatar neared the next campus building, the flag unfurled at the top of it to read, 'Sandwich Station.'

What was this going to cover? How to put cream cheese on a bagel, like he'd never done that before? Probably. He sighed. He clicked on the door.

What the hell? The video didn't start. Kirk clicked the door again, harder, as though how hard he hit the button would make the virtual door open by his annoyance alone. Nothing happened.

After confirming Creeper was still on mop duty in the lobby, Kirk took off the headphones, and grabbed his cupcake and drink in each hand. With a little embarrassment, but the determination to get these ridiculous simulations over with as soon as he could – there was no way he was going to do these for two days in a row! – he marched up to the counter.

"Oh my God, are you done already?" Janice asked, clearly thinking the answer was unbelievably 'yes.'

"I wish," Kirk said. "The, um, the door won't open for the sandwich building."

"Oh," was her disappointed response, before she turned and walked toward the Warp Drive Thru. "Is Pike around?" she asked everyone.

Someone Kirk couldn't see replied, "Office is closed. You know what that means: Busy."

"Spock," Janice whined. "Can you help the new guy?"

"Please do not whine."

She ignored him. "The laptop's messing up again."

Kirk hoped Spock would speed it up. Creepy was getting closer with the mopping and he wanted to be back in his seat before the other man got to him. He occupied himself with the cupcake, licking off the icing, completely absorbed in his task—

—until he noticed that Spock standing at the counter staring at him blankly. "While I commend you for your focus, I would appreciate it if you did not devour your cupcake in a location where customers request their food. It is unsightly and unseemly."

"Whatever," Kirk said around a mouthful of icing. "Computer's dumb."

Spock came around and walked into the lobby, leading them both back to the laptop. "It is an inanimate object, and therefore is not capable of sentience, including stupidity."

Kirk had by now bitten into the cake. "Did you just make a joke?"

Spock looked at him as though Kirk had just stepped in something foul. "Are you incapable of speaking without something in your mouth?"

Kirk swallowed. "Just so you know, it's difficult to find a human being that can speak _clearly_ with something in their mouth. Luckily, I mastered that skill when I was four."

Spock bent over the laptop screen. "A remarkable talent, I am sure."

Kirk stood next to him and watched. "One of many, Spocky."

"Spock."

Kirk just smiled around his next bite of cupcake. Spock placed the mouse on a random bush next to the sandwich building and clicked. The door opened and the video began. "There is a glitch in the programming," Spock said as he stood straight again. "Mr. Pike should have informed you when you began the simulations."

Kirk squeezed himself between his table and Spock and slid into his seat, putting his food down and getting the headphones on again. "Okay, great, thanks, Spock." Spock lingered at his table for another few minutes watching him, almost like he was waiting for something, before he went back behind the counter. It took Kirk another five minutes to realize that Spock had stayed there until Creepy had finished mopping and left the lobby.

He blasted through the sandwiches building and was halfway through the 'Specialty Items' building when he was distracted again. This time, it was because of a customer. A man – he looked about ten years older than him – slowly swaggered through the doors. He looked like he'd just woken up or he'd just gotten away from a fight. He headed to the counter, and when he got there, leaned heavily on it, both arms holding him upright with his elbows locked straight. Kirk took off the headphones, intrigued.

"Coffee. Black," the man snapped.

For the first time, Kirk noticed that Janice's smile had faded instead of grown. She looked a little nervous. "What size?"

"Large."

Having just watched hours and hours of videos dedicated to the menu items of Starfleet Coffee, Kirk had the information drilled into his head about size equivalents in their beverages. A small was called a shuttle. Defiants were mediums, while Enterprises meant larges. Extra large was an Excelsior. And if they needed a boost of espresso, customers better ask to add a warp to their drinks.

"Okay," Janice said, as she keyed in the gruff man's order. "A Black Enterprise. Anything else, sir, like a muffin?"

"No, just the coffee, damnit." He tossed a credit chip on the counter.

She processed the transaction and returned the credit chip, then hurried to pour the man's drink. He snatched it from her as soon as he possibly could. Without a 'thank you' or anything, he turned and headed back to the door. He stopped, and Kirk knew exactly what he was looking at even before the man tore it from the window and stalked back to poor Janice. Kirk noticed that Spock now stood beside her.

"Lemme see your manager," demanded the man.

"May I ask why?" Spock said, saving Janice from interacting with him anymore. She looked at Spock gratefully and practically fled through the swinging door to the back of the store. Maybe she was finally about to enjoy one of her birthday cupcakes, hopefully not around Creepy.

"Says you're hiring. I need a job."

Spock and the stranger stared at each other. Eventually, Spock admitted defeat and pulled a piece of paper from underneath the register. "Please fill this out."

The other man snatched that, too. "You got a pen?"

Spock looked like he would rather chop off his pointed ear than give this man a pen. He must like his ears, though, because he surrendered one. The other man took his papers, pen, and black coffee to a table. A table that happened to be right next to Kirk's table. "Prissy bastard," the scruffier man mumbled to himself as he began to scratch the pen along the application form.

Kirk watched for a minute, then looked back to the register. He was surprised to find not only Spock but Pike watching the applicant sitting next to him. Their attention was riveted to the man, but they were discussing quickly and very quietly. He pretended to go back to his training, but there was no way he could focus with this volatile guy next to him. He could get stabbed with that pen before he knew it was even coming. Yeah. He was definitely waiting until he left.

The man must have left a lot of fields blank because he got up again in record time. He went up to the counter again and held out the paper to Pike, who took it silently and looked it over. Spock seemed like he didn't want to accept the returned pen. "Spock, go away," said Pike. Spock disappeared.

Pike looked up and pinned the newcomer with his eyes. "Maintenance, huh?" He waited for the confirming nod this time. "I can only give you weekends for now, but between you and me, I'm dying to get rid of Puri. He makes all the girls here uncomfortable." Kirk wanted to add that Creeper made at least one man uncomfortable, too, but only just held back. "Once that happens, you can have all the weekdays. That work for you?"

"Fine," was the growled response.

Pike didn't avert his eyes. "I need you here on Tuesday – it's our truck day. You want to do maintenance, you have to know how to handle Tuesdays. It's chaos."

"What time?"

"4:30 am." Kirk's grin mirrored Pike's when the other man steadied himself with one hand on the counter.

"My God, man!"

"If that's too early," Pike continued, baiting his line, "I can always keep you for weekends and keep looking."

"No, no!" growled the man. "I'll be here. I need to pay my shit lawyer's fees. Didn't get anything in the damn settlement except my own skin and bones!"

Pike didn't respond to the rant whatsoever. Kirk thought the guy seemed mentally unstable. But from what little he'd seen of…Puri? Creepy-Puri. Kirk smiled to himself. From what he'd seen of Creepy-Puri, mentally unstable was an improvement. Pike handed over a very familiar stack of papers. "Fill those out now, so we can get you ready to come in immediately."

The other man sighed, took the papers, and headed back to the table next to Kirk. He sat down, then seemed to remember he'd returned his pen to Spock. Kirk had some mercy on the guy and held out his own pen. "Thanks," he mumbled.

"No problem," he replied.

He felt the other man's eyes in his direction. He looked over. Kirk was surprised to find that the other man wasn't looking at him but at the simulation on the laptop. "I better not have to do that shit."

Kirk couldn't help but chuckle. "I doubt they have one for mopping."

"Good, because that'd be ridiculous."

Kirk nodded. "These _are_ ridiculous."

Suddenly, a hand was thrust in his direction. "McCoy, Leonard McCoy."

Kirk shook the man's hand. "Jim Kirk. Nice to meet you Skin-and-Bones."

"Heard all that, huh?" Kirk nodded. "Yeah…" McCoy trailed off darkly, before going back to his forms.

Where Kirk had been incredibly uncomfortable with even just the sight of Puri, sitting next to McCoy was comfortable, easy. So much so that time seemed to go quickly through the next several simulations on the laptop until he got to the last building. It was a big, black building and the flag on it read 'The Kobayashi Maru.'

"What the hell does that mean?"

Kirk looked over at McCoy. He had obviously long finished his paperwork and was watching the younger man's progress in the virtual training. "No idea." He moved to click on the double doors of the building. "But we're about to find out." He clicked.

He found his avatar at a front counter facing a line of fifteen customers. Someone in a yellow shirt appeared, dominating the screen, to give him the goal of the simulation. "Fulfill all fifteen orders successfully in fifteen minutes. Work as quickly and accurately as you can." That couldn't be possible. It had to be marked to an unreachable time to drive him harder. The yellow-shirted manager avatar raised a whistle and blew it, starting the timer in the lower left-hand corner. "Good luck." Kirk didn't believe in luck.

Kirk moved that damn mouse as fast as he could. When he clicked something wrong, coffee was spilled in the simulation, or a coffee pot exploded because it was left empty on a brewer, or the sugar got all over the counter! He had to fill machines while taking orders, refill the cup dispensers as he hit the button the release sugar in another cup. Finalize transactions in the virtual drawer, using credit chips, or gift transfers. There was no warning when customers would change their minds mid order, or add items at the end – even after they'd paid for what they'd already ordered, or that the ninth customer in line would pull out a list of seven drinks and four sandwiches! He was in the middle of the last sandwich, the oven had beeped indicating it had finished cooking. Kirk clicked the oven door.

Shit. Nothing happened.

Kirk clicked again. Nothing. What the hell?

"Kid," McCoy spoke up. He pointed to the timer in the corner. "I think it—"

"Froze," Kirk finished. This could not be serious. He was doing so well! He was far ahead of schedule. No.

Kirk stood up and stormed up to the counter, where Janice had reclaimed her register. He didn't even wait for her. "Hey, I need Pike."

And this time, she didn't ask. She simply turned and pattered around the corner. Almost immediately, Pike followed her back to the front counter. "Kirk. How are you coming along?"

"I'm at the Kobayashi Maru."

Pike's eyebrows rose in clear surprise. "Already?"

"Yeah, and listen, it froze on me."

It was like he announced there was something alive in the garbage can. Pike barreled into the lobby and spun the laptop to face him. He clicked things randomly. Kirk was desperately hoping this wouldn't screw up the simulation. He realized as soon as it had begun that it was basically the final exam of the Starfleet Academy program. McCoy met his gaze and Kirk winked reassuringly. McCoy just shook his head. "Damn!" Pike muttered. "Nothing's working. I'll have to restart the laptop, and you'll have to do it again."

Kirk saw the outrageously alarmed expression on McCoy's face, and knew his matched. "The entire thing?"

Pike chuckled. "No, no, just the Maru. Not the whole damn Academy. Jesus."

After another five minutes, Pike got the laptop restarted and brought Starfleet Academy back up, maneuvering Kirk's sexless avatar all the way across the cartoon campus to the Kobayashi Maru building. "Alright," Pike announced, grabbing Kirk's shoulder and shoving him back into the seat. "Here you go again."

Kirk went to work, busting through the first nine customers, hoping it wouldn't freeze up again on sandwich number four, and grateful when the oven opened that time, in less than twelve minutes. Just keep going! Just keep going. By the time he finished the last customer, a Black Shuttle, his time was at 17:01.

Kirk sighed.

McCoy whistled.

Pike nodded silently, and watched the following video for Kirk's graduation of Starfleet Academy. Kirk knew he wanted to see one thing. How he had done. Then, it came up in an obnoxious little bubble pop-up box. 'Score, Kobayashi Maru: 96% Accuracy.' Kirk was even a little surprised.

Pike clapped him on the shoulder hard. "That's better than Spock!"

Kirk nervously looked to the front counter, disappointed to see Spock's eyes narrowed in his direction. "Christ," mumbled McCoy, "is that Spock?"

Pike didn't even look. "Blue shirt? Probably looks pissed I said that? Yeah, that's Spock." He looked at both Kirk and McCoy, and Kirk saw the moment Pike realized the seated men thought talking about Spock was awkward. "Right," Pike said a little too loudly, and obviously for Spock's benefit. "You boys got your paperwork done?"

"Yeah," grumbled McCoy.

"Kinda," replied Kirk.

Pike grabbed McCoy's packet and Kirk's clipboard. "Whatever, Kirk, we'll handle it before your first paycheck." With his free hand, he somehow managed to pack up the laptop and all its attachments and pick it up. "Come with me. Let's get you both settled in and give you your cups before Spock flips out about it again." He didn't even wait for them both to stand before he was off and heading back to his office.

Kirk and McCoy followed him, but Kirk glanced for an instant to Spock, seeing the pointy-eared shift commander still glaring at him. It was enough to make him quickly avert his gaze, which ended up on Uhura. He smiled his most charming smile at her. She rolled her eyes and pointedly turned her back to him. "What the hell'd I do?" McCoy asked.

"Relax, Bones, she just hates me."

"Oh." McCoy visibly relaxed. "Well, good, because I didn't even do anything."

Pike was waiting for them in the doorway of his office. With both hands, he held two matching silver cups and lids, and a clunky device. "Your employee cups." They both took one, knowing they were fresh out of the packaging plastic by the smell of them. Pike raised the clunky device. "Alright," he said as he hit a button on the machine. A moment later a long strip came from it. Pike removed it when it stopped, and handed it to Kirk, who looked at it to find that on the strip was printed his last name. Then, he realized Pike was using a label-maker. "Put that one your cup. Otherwise people might use yours."

McCoy seemed all too eager to stick the label with his last name on his cup. Kirk took a little longer trying to decide where to put his. He decided to go with the area right over the store logo – which he kind of thought looked like an arrowhead – and above the company slogan. "Always ready to bean you up!" Kirk shook his head. Yeah, it wasn't the best slogan, but it was better than that stupid hip coffee place down the road. He'd rather cheesy than obnoxiously arrogant.

Kirk looked up to see Pike holding out two more objects. Ah, their nametags. They were in the same shape as the logo of the store – that stylized up-facing arrowhead. "What do you want to be called, Kirk?"

"Well, not Kirk, that's for sure." The joking tone fell flat. Okay then. Kirk cleared his throat. "Jim's fine."

"Jim,"repeated Pike, as he hit four buttons, before another strip emerged from the label maker. He handed the label and the nametag to Kirk. "Don't lose it." Then, he looked at McCoy. "Let me guess," he said. "Len?"

McCoy grimaced. "Good God, no."

Kirk smiled to himself. "How 'bout 'Bones?'" McCoy glared at him. "What?" Kirk asked. "It's better than Len!" He held back the sense of victory when McCoy couldn't hold in the smile anymore.

"Sure, why the hell not?"

A moment later, Pike handed McCoy his nametag and label. They both worked on attaching them, while holding their cups, as Pike turned around into his office. A moment later, he came back. He shoved two folded red shirts at Kirk, and two dark blue shirts at McCoy. "Wait, how come he gets blue, but I get red?"

The way Pike looked at him made him feel a little stupid for having asked. "Red are normal crew members. Blue – but like the one Spock has on – is for shift commanders. Yellow are managers. Hopefully, Kirk, you'll move up from red soon. Dark blue," he finished, nodding meaningfully at McCoy, "is maintenance color. They're kind of in command of their own area." Both Kirk and McCoy nodded. Pike flicked his gaze between the two of them. "Kirk, you're in here again for on the floor training tomorrow at 8:00 am, again. You'll work out front." He looked at McCoy. "You'll be working with Puri tomorrow at 7:00 am. Just follow him around to get the basics. Tomorrow's Thursday, so you have two days to get an idea before you're on your own Saturday." Pike sighed. "Just…try to ignore him when he gets inappropriate. I would fire him now if I could."

Pike stepped back over the threshold of his office, the meaning clear. "See you tomorrow, gentlemen." Then, he shut the door.

Kirk and McCoy exchanged a glance before turning around and heading away from Pike's office. Almost by the time he reached the gate, Kirk remembered he needed to clock out. He jogged back to the warp drive thru order taker's register, noticing that Uhura moved out of his way of her own volition. He didn't fail to notice that she moved unnecessarily as far away as was possible. Whatever, Kirk decided, she'd have to get used to him being around, because he wasn't about to get intimidated by her snobbery. He caught up to McCoy, who was waiting over by the gate. On his way past Spock, Kirk couldn't help but wave his new employee cup at him.

McCoy had opened the gate and was about to leave through it when Kirk remembered. He grabbed the man's shoulder. "No, Bones. We have to use the back door now."

"Are you kidding me?" he growled. "I'm out front."

"Yeah, so am I, but you know rules are rules."

Kirk dragged McCoy through the swinging door into the back storage area. "I have a feeling, kid, that you're not a fan of rules." Kirk just gave McCoy a smile as he opened the back door.

* * *

_Enjoy the madness, for it is just beginning in this story. Thank you for reading. Be kind, and review. - RK _


	4. Initiation

**Chapter 4 – Initiation**

Yeah, he might have an older, beaten-to-Hell pickup truck. It still got him from point A to point B, though, which was the only important factor in his opinion. He had high hopes of getting a new one, but that day seemed much farther away than it had a few months ago, what with his divorce attorney's fees he would be paying off until…well, he pushed that out of his mind. It would take him a long time to pay off, especially with this minimum-wage job. All he basically had was his truck. His truck and his fees.

With a sigh, he pulled it around the building and parked in the first open space he saw in the employee parking section in the back of the place. He sat there for an extra minute or two – he was a little early anyways – staring at the dark, metal door to Starfleet Coffee. It looked like a portal to a life-term imprisonment. Once he went through that door, he was sure there was no going back. Committed to the low-income job indefinitely.

It was better than no income indefinitely! He threw open the pickup's door and stalked to that door of despair, noticed the black button of a buzzer and jammed his finger on it, waiting for someone to let him in.

About fifteen seconds went by of nothing happening. He knew people had passed the door several times. He heard them walking! Maybe the door was unlocked? He tried the handle. Nope. Definitely locked. His already displeased expression morphed into a frown as he pushed the buzzer again.

After he heard someone walk past the door again, he had it. He walked around the building to the front door that led into the lobby of the coffee shop. Using the same resigned viciousness with which he'd flung open the door of his truck, he flung open the door to Starfleet Coffee. He repeated this technique with the little latched gate at the side of the counter. Why bother greeting anyone else? They didn't know him yet. If they thought he was coming in to rob them or something, then they were stupid since he clearly had his employee dark blue shirt and silver nametag on already! Just wait until he found the dumb teenage punk who thought it would be funny to make the new guy walk around the building when they didn't open the damn door! He'd make them pay.

He'd seen that Jim kid go over here before they left. He assumed this register was the time-clock. Then, he realized something. He didn't know how to clock in. Another thing to piss him off right at the beginning of his day.

"You were informed yesterday that employees are not permitted to enter the store for their shift through the front customer entrances, were you not?" He didn't even need to look to know who spoke to him from behind.

But he decided to ignore it.

He went to the nearest worker and growled, "Where do I get my numbers?"

The answer was meek, and the girl was clearly looking over his shoulder at the person who had just tried to reprimand him. "Pike."

"He here?"

She pointed to the office.

He only managed one step in the office's direction before that irritating voice spoke again. "He is unavailable presently."

He was going to hate this guy, right up to the points of his ears. "Well, do you know how I can clock in, then?" He whirled to face Spock, looking at his nametag and then deliberately stressing the title. "Shift Commander."

Spock seemed to almost sigh. "Mister McCoy, my name is Spock, not Shift Commander, which is my job title in this establishment." McCoy rolled his eyes. "In response to your query, however, I believe this would suffice." Spock walked to the window register, and held down a button, prompting the receipt paper to feed through the machine. He tore off the piece and plucked up a nearby pen. He jotted down several things before attaching a small strip of tape to it, then handing it to McCoy. "If you attach this to the office door, Mister Pike will be able to reference it and manually enter your worked time for the day."

McCoy snatched it from Spock, and – even though he would have gotten more satisfaction in slamming his hand against the door, but remembering that it wasn't Pike who ticked him off today – gently stuck it there. He headed back to the back of the store to where he figured the maintenance supplies were kept. To his annoyance, Spock trailed behind him.

"As I began a moment ago, Mister McCoy, employees are not permitted to enter through the front customer doors when reporting for their shifts. I find it highly unlikely that you were not made aware of this before the conclusion of your conference with Mister Pike."

He felt the frown turn into a complete scowl. "Couldn't get in the goddamned door, Commander!" he barked.

"It is locked at all times in order to prevent potential criminals and miscreants from entering the establishment through a back entrance in an attempt to burglarize, assault, or murder the employees."

McCoy nodded at the largely built, apron-wearing man who had on the dirtiest pair of oven mitts he'd seen in recent memory. A door flew open and almost knocked him down had it not been for Spock throwing his hand out to stop it from hitting him in the nose. Apparently, this was the maintenance closet. Instead of thanking Spock, McCoy turned to him and snapped, "Then, maybe you should tell Pike to get the damn doorbell fixed since it didn't work when I got here, which is why I had to walk all the way around the building to come in through the forbidden doorway!"

The look Spock gave him in reply was completely blank, except for the tiniest upward flick of his eyebrow. "As you are entrusted with this building's maintenance, fixing the door signal would fall under your responsibilities. I suggest you make it a priority for the day."

McCoy opened his mouth to retort, but Spock turned sharply and walked away, leaving McCoy staring after him.

"Like he's got my broom shoved up his ass the whole time. Charming, isn't he?"

He whirled around again as the elderly janitor from yesterday backed out of the closet, dragging a wheeled mop bucket along with him, and holding the still dry mop up in the other hand. Must be Puri. "Yeah," McCoy answered. "He's a real Georgian peach."

Puri grimaced. "I don't think I'd ever call that stiff little prick a peach." His grimace turned into a leer. "Now, Rand on the other hand. She's got herself a pair of—"

"What did I say yesterday, Puri?" hissed the mitt-wearing younger man by the oven. "One more offensive comment and I will report you for harassment!" He seemed suddenly aware of McCoy and barreled over to him, yanking one of his mitts off as he approached. He was a large, intimidating man – younger than him or not – and McCoy couldn't help but take one step back. The other man held out a hand. "Hendorff. Most people just call me Henry, though, even though my real name's Barry."

McCoy stared at him. "So what one do you rather – Henry or Barry?"

"Don't care."

McCoy took the offered hand. "McCoy."

"How come your nametag says Bones?" he asked, nodding to the nametag.

McCoy didn't feel like going into the whole story. "Henry or Barry for you. McCoy or Bones for me."

The baker's eyes narrowed. "Which one do you like better?"

McCoy returned with Hendorff's answer to that question. "Don't care."

Hendorff nodded. "Fair enough."

He liked this guy. No questions, no pain in the ass hounding like Spock. Just a friendly – if forceful – introduction and that was it. McCoy turned to Puri again. "Apparently, I'm the weekend maintenance guy."

"I'm the real maintenance guy," the old man one-upped. "I guess I have to teach you everything then, huh?"

McCoy certainly hoped not. "Not everything, but the main things."

Puri looked him over from head to toe then back up. McCoy didn't like the little grin that spread across the elderly man's mouth. "Everything." He shook his head. McCoy had no idea what that meant! "Let's start here. This is where we keep everything. The closet." Puri gestured into the tiny room. "Take a look."

McCoy leaned around the still-open door and peered into the closet. Supplies were everywhere! No organization whatsoever. Two containers of handsoap in two completely different places. A bleach bottle's spray nozzle dripped onto the lid of Puri's employee mug. Did he drink from that? He glanced at Puri. McCoy hoped he didn't drink from that bleach-coated lid. The only thing in the entire closet that had nothing around it…or staining it…was the wallet-sized image of a super-skinny barely-qualified-as-clothed model straddling a garden hose.

Not even one whole day through this new job and McCoy wondered if he'd made a mistake filling out the paperwork.

~X~X~X~X~X~

His red shirt still had the fold marks on it. The silver nametag gleamed in the morning sunlight like a star. His sunglasses made him look even more stylish than his commercial worthy windblown hair as he rode his bike toward his new job. And the gum in his mouth freshened his breath some more as he drove, even though he made sure to brush them right after his breakfast. A little extra freshness never hurt anybody.

He pulled his bike around to the back of the building, taking up a spot next to a sleek black car that looked like it had just been cleaned. He couldn't help staring at the vehicle for a moment. It was a beauty.

He swung his leg over the seat of his bike, and grabbed his new employee cup from its holder, even before his engine fully stopped purring. With the confident stride of a man who scored better on the simulations than the handbook-quoting shift commander, James T. Kirk strutted to the back employee entrance, and hit the door buzzer. He stood out there until he realized that three cars had come through the warp drive thru and still no one had let him into the place. Hmm. He hit the buzzer again, jaw working furiously on his spearmint gum.

He was about to knock when all of a sudden the door opened and a familiar grumpy voice from yesterday reached his ears. "I've been taking out trash since I was ten, Puri!" A large, square, wheeled garbage can came through the doorway. It was being pushed along by Creepy-Puri.

"Bring the other one!" the old man shouted behind him to his trainee.

"Damnit!" came to replying shout, as a second wheeled garbage can was almost thrown out the door. "I don't need you to show me how to take out the damn trash!"

"There are two dumpsters out here, and we can only use one of them!" Puri clearly ignored his new apprentice.

He caught his new friend's eye, who just frowned and shook his head at him.

"Morning, Bones."

"No, it isn't," he mumbled.

"Sorry," Kirk said, as he took advantage of the open door and slipped inside the building. He heard Puri shouting at Bones as the door closed, even over the sound of the two garbage cans being wheeled across the back parking lot.

"We use the big one on the left. Are you strong enough to pick up the bags?"

"Are you kidding me, Puri?"

Kirk took off his sunglasses and put them next to his cup on the employee break table. He saw the same big-scary-ish guy back here that he saw yesterday. "Hey, Cupcake," he called as he put the ice machine between them where he could wash his hands in peace without fear of retaliation. From where he stood, he had a clear view of the warp drive thru window area. He smiled as he saw his favorite order taker at the time-clock.

He walked over to her with his most charming smile, being careful not to chomp on his gum in her face. "Hey, Uhura." All of his charm got him a glare, and an angry fast turn of her head in return as she silently and pointedly announced that she had no interest in his presence. He took advantage of her dismissal and tapped his numbers into the register. 223304 – Clock In. He turned to grab his clock in slip from the window person's receipt feed, but found himself face to face with a very pretty brunette with glossy pink lips.

"You're new," she stated obviously.

He smiled his charming smile that Uhura chose to ignore. "You're new to me, too."

"Oh my God," groaned Uhura, who had reclaimed her place in front of her screen.

The pretty girl offered him his clock in slip. "Good luck, Jim."

"Thank you," he trailed off to flick his gaze to her nametag. "Helen."

"Would you have asked if I didn't have the name on my chest?"

Kirk opened his mouth to reply but only got the first word out before a new voice spoke over his own. "Welcome back, Mister Kirk."

He wouldn't admit to anyone that didn't witness him flail just a little that he actually did flail in fright at the sound of Spock's voice right behind him. "Whoa! Jesus!"

Spock looked at him passively. "My name is Spock."

As Jim stood there in confusion for a brief moment, Spock turned and headed to a tiny wall directly across from the sandwich station, where all kinds of things were posted. There was even a mirror on the wall. Spock pointed to a dry-erasable diagram on the wall. "Have you been briefed on this diagram's purpose?"

He hadn't, but he looked it over quickly, realizing almost instantly that it was a diagram of the major stations in the restaurant. Each one had a corresponding number. It seemed to start with the warp drive thru window, and work its way around that area, through sandwiches, to the front counter, and then stopping at something called the WDT/FC expeditor. Alright, then.

"Before every shift you work, you are expected to consult this diagram. It will inform you as to your work station areas and duties for the duration of your shift." Jim looked for his name, finding it written next to the number nine, which meant Front Counter Assembler. "If you are operating a register, you must find your shift commander who will equip you with your cash drawer for your shift. It is your responsibility to make sure you have the proper amount of currency in it before your first transaction, otherwise it would be your responsibility if your drawer at the conclusion of your shift does not contain the correct amount of currency. Please strive for accuracy in this matter. If your shift commander has not yet arrived or unavailable for any reason, you must either wait for the shift commander to arrive, become available, or seek the assistance of Mister Pike."

"But I'm not on a register today, so this isn't relevant to me right now."

Spock did not exactly glare at him. After a moment, he resumed speaking, his voice a touch firmer. "You will be sent on a fifteen minute break at the discretion of your shift commander, and only in the order in which each crewmember has arrived for the shift. If you are the third to arrive, you will be sent on break third. If you arrive last—"

"Let me guess, you're sent last?" he tried to soften his aggravation with Spock using his most charming smile. It got him nothing from the commander. His smile faded quickly.

They stared at each other for a long minute. "I would usually tell all new employees that they may ask me whatever questions they need answered at this time. However, I doubt you will appreciate the information I can provide you, as you do not seem to be receptive to my aid thus far, and therefore I am not making you the same offer."

Jim chewed his gum. "I did score better than you."

"I suspect it had a great deal to do with the malfunction of the computer, which allowed you to – as you would say – bust through it to the point where the system failed, having already been familiar with the orders in the simulation."

He stopped chewing his gum. "Are you saying my score doesn't count, or that I cheated?"

"I doubt you would have surpassed my score had you completed the simulation on your first attempt." Without pausing to allow Jim time to reply, Spock continued. "You will be constructing only the orders requesting hot coffee. You will not make any iced variety or specialty beverages. You will not prepare sandwiches. And you will not operate the register."

Jim huffed to himself and licked his lips to prevent himself from hurling an insult at this uptight shift commander. "And – what? – I just stand there if no one orders something hot the whole time?"

Spock walked away from the shift plan diagram and headed towards the front counter, picking up a click-permanent marker and handing it to Jim. "You will spend that time refilling your sugar, your flavors, brewing additional coffee, changing the brew baskets, cleaning the brewing areas, filling the dairy compartments, and fetching replacement bags of coffee beans for the hoppers. You will have duties to attend to when not preparing beverages."

Jim took the offered click-marker and tucked it into his pants pocket. "Okay, point made."

Spock looked at his mouth, and for a moment, Jim wondered if this was his way of checking him out. He usually started with the level of kissability a new encounter's lips had. That idea went out the window when Spock seemed to frown and then practically growled at him, "Before you do anything else, you will dispose of your chewing gum."

Jim chewed on it just to get a reaction. "Why?"

Spock's eyebrows drifted closer – but Jim would never have noticed had he not been waiting for any kind of reaction. "It is unsanitary."

Jim pulled the garbage can out from underneath the counter, spit the gum out, then slid the can back into its compartment. Spock picked up a grease pencil from the steel counter and went to the sugar dispenser. Above each size button, which indicated from left to right, "S, SH, D, E, EX," Spock wrote numbers above them in the same direction, "1, 2, 3, 4, 5." He did the same for the dairy dispenser.

"Are you kidding me, Spock? I'm not stupid."

Spock turned to him, his expression patient. "New employees often find it confusing when a customer may request a specific number of sugars or dairy amounts in their chosen beverage. I am assisting you in the adjustment."

Jim just glared at him. But Spock didn't see it since he turned back to finish writing numbers above the dairy dispenser sizes. "For example, if a customer asks you for an Enterprise with extra sugar, which release button would you depress?"

Through clenched teeth, Jim responded. "The one for an Excelsior."

Spock nodded. "Correct." He faced him then. "And if one should request a Shuttle light and sweet?"

Jim sighed. "In a Shuttle cup, you hit the sugar and cream as though it's an Enterprise."

Spock studied him for a moment, finally noticing the glare Jim aimed at him. "Many do not know the correct proportions for light and sweet. I needed to know that I am able to trust you to prepare hot coffees for the customers whose orders I take during this shift."

Just then, someone entered through the doors. Spock turned, and politely acknowledged the customer, approaching his register to take his order. Meanwhile, Jim mentally charged himself to prove to Spock that he wasn't the dumbass the shift commander thought he was. He clicked his marker to the ready position.

'Bring it,' Jim thought, as he waited for whatever Spock keyed into the register to appear on the order screen above his sugar dispenser. 'Bring it, you pointy-eared bastard.'

* * *

_To clarify: This is obviously Alternate Universe – keeping the characters in character (for the most part), but changing events, introductions, interactions. Just to have us all on the same page. Please leave a review on your way out. Flames are unnecessary, though. Don't write something you would not appreciate receiving. Thanks. _


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